The Other Witch
by Operation Milkdud
Summary: Ron betrays Hermione and gambles away their life savings. Faced with losing her home and disappointing her children, Hermione secretly begins living a double life to make ends meet, working for an old enemy. DM/HG. Inspired by TV show "Younger"
1. A Nightmare Come to Life

**A/N** : So I haven't written a story for HP since 2006 according to this website. Wow. But anyway, this came to me while I was watching a show on TV Land called "Younger" and this story will use some elements from that. It's a great show! If you've never seen it, check it out!

Setting: 2019. Story is canon with all HP novels EXCEPT Hermione never was Minister for Magic. Also (it's important early) I have no idea of Penelope Clearwater's family tree, so I'm taking some liberties.

 **Warnings** : It'll have the word "fuck" in it occasionally. Also other colorful language. No lemons.

1.

Hermione paced back and forth in the foyer of her house, practically wearing a hole in the floor. The anxiety was making her nauseous. She wished it was seven o'clock already so this could be over. She heard an unmistakable pop just outside her front door and stopped suddenly.

Harry had barely had a chance to knock when Hermione wrenched the door open. She tried to smile, but it came out like a queasy grimace.

"Harry," she said with a nod, sounding stronger than she thought she would. Her friend smiled and stepped forward, enveloping her in a hug.

"It's been a while, 'Mione!" he let himself in, Ginny following after and giving Hermione another hug.

"Yeah, like three months! Wow," Ginny said, sidetracked, "did you guys...remodel?"

Hermione shut the door and turned to see what Ginny was talking about. The foyer opened up into the enormous bottom floor of the house, which had an open floor plan. There was the kitchen, dining room and main living room, and Hermione sighed when she realized what Ginny must mean.

"Er—no. We've been...decluttering," she muttered, stepping around her friends and going to sit on her couch. They followed, then both awkwardly sat on either side of Hermione on the three-seat sofa. Because there was nowhere else to sit.

"You on some kind of no-technology life plan or something?" Harry asked half-joking, half-worried as he gestured to the wall where their telly used to be.

Hermione said nothing. She swallowed hard, taking a quick glance around the room, realizing there was no way out of telling the truth. God knew she'd put it off long enough.

The missing chairs, the telly, the Persian rug her mother had given her when they'd bought the house, the antique crystal lamps she'd inherited from her grandmother, all gone. She felt tears prick her eyes.

It was just stuff, though. Just things. It was just a house.

A house she was losing.

"I actually...that's what I wanted to talk to you both about." She cleared her throat. Ginny leaned forward, twisting her body around toward Hermione. Her face was etched with concern.

"Hermione, has something happened? Are you ill?" the redhead asked.

"No...well..." she chuckled dryly, "not physically." When she noticed her friends give each other wide-eyed looks across her sunken form, she backpedaled. "I'm fine. It's just...we...we're broke. Ron and I. We're broke, and we're losing the house and—and—"

She felt a sob coming, but she swallowed it back. Because of all the things she was losing, she'd miss him the least.

"We're getting a divorce." Her throaty voice turned hard at the last word. Harry sat up straight as a board, leaning closer to his friend. Ginny turned ghostly white.

"What's happened?"

What has happened, Hermione thought. Everything has happened. Every awful thing that shouldn't happen, has happened.

She started out slowly telling her story, the one she had been holding inside for months now. The truth had festered inside her for so long she thought perhaps it was making her sick. After the shock wore off, all the anger and resentment and shame continued to build. And then, like opening the floodgates, she spilled everything.

Hermione told them how she'd come home from work to find Ron waiting for her. Rose and Hugo had just left to return to Hogwarts after the Christmas holiday. She had felt some big announcement was coming, because Ron had been distant and uninvolved with the festivities.

He said he met someone else. At work. And it had been going on for quite some time, though he wouldn't say how long.

He was leaving. Hermione was too devoted to her job. He never saw her. She refused to get a different one, one that actually paid well so they could afford the life Ron wanted. Sick of being the breadwinner, sick of waiting for her to come home late with take-home meals, sick of wondering if she was really at work or with someone else.

Hermione hadn't argued. She supposed those were fair points. Her job with the Ministry didn't pay well, but she loved it. And she guessed if Ron was the one coming home late, she would have her suspicions too.

She told her friends she listened calmly while her husband explained he was leaving her, feeling less shocked and hurt than she expected to be. It had made her sad.

Then, the worst of the truth came out.

"He said he gambled it all away. Our life savings, our house, it's all gone. He'd been making bets on Quidditch games with coworkers and just never hit his lucky break." Her voice took on a venomous tone. "He spent half an hour trying to justify it, and he got angry that I was more upset about that than his affair. I mean, our house! We raised our children here. We—I can't..."

She felt Ginny wrap an arm around her shoulders and tug her closer. Hermione dropped her head onto Ginny's shoulder, her face blank. Harry stood up and began pacing.

"I don't understand how Ron could do this. I mean, 'Mione, he loved you. Just last year on that trip we took to Spain, remember? All he could talk about was how proud he was of his family, and how he'd done so much better for himself than anybody expected him to..."

"Harry, don't..." Ginny warned quietly, rubbing her friend's arm. "It's hard to understand, but it's happened. We will help you figure out what to do, okay? Did you have any savings Ron couldn't access?"

Hermione nodded.

"I had my own account at a muggle bank. It had enough money in case of an emergency. But it's run out now..." she trailed off, making eye contact with Harry, who immediately stiffened.

"Hermione, how long ago did this happen? Is—is that why you sold that fancy rug I spilled pumpkin juice on once—oh. You said...Christmas?"

"Yes, Harry. That's why I've had to sell things. It happened just before the New Year."

"This has gone on six months?" Ginny said shrilly, tightening her grip. Hermione tensed.

"I didn't want to worry you—"

"But we had that dinner! At our house, it was April! And you and Ron came!" She put a hand to her mouth, looking horrified.

"Well...it was Ron's idea—"

"Of course it was! The git!" Harry spat, running a hand through his hair. "I've just come from playing Wizard's chess with him at Dean Thomas'. Thought it was strange when he said he wouldn't be here tonight." Harry screwed his face up, obviously mentally kicking himself.

"Don't worry, Hermione. We will help you. We have more than enough money—"

"I can't take money from you. I love you both, and thank you, but I can't." Hermione left her friend's arms to stand, wrapping her arms around herself. "I only wanted to ask that...you not tell Rose and Hugo. Not until I figure something out."

Harry and Ginny looked dubiously at each other.

"Uh, Hermione...they're going to notice their father is gone and half the furniture with him." Ginny said pityingly. "How—"

"Please, can you keep them with you, when they return for the summer break, just until I can find a better job? I've been looking, really, but with the economy as it is..."

"You're the smartest witch I've ever met! You can't find anyone to hire you?" Ginny was flabbergasted.

"I need money, Ginny. I need a job that pays substantially more than what the Ministry does. There's no way I can keep this house, but Rose wants to continue her education at that prestigious university in Wales I told you about, and the tuition alone is—-it's ludicrous. Ron can't afford it. He's paying off his debts. He insists these lovely people would kill him before they'd forgive all the money he owes them." She let out an exhausted sigh. "I've thought of everything. I've been going to interviews, and of course everyone is thrilled that Harry Potter's best friend is looking for employment at their business, but that's where their interest ends. They either don't have any openings or they want to pay with peanuts."

She dropped her head, digging the heels of her hands into her tightly closed eyes.

"This is a bloody nightmare come to life."

No one spoke for a long while, but the Potters had gotten quite good at unspoken communication over the years, and through a few silent glances and hard looks, they came to a mutual decision to do whatever their dearest friend needed them to do.

Harry wrapped his arms around Hermione, followed soon by Ginny.

"Of course," Harry said firmly, "Rose and Hugo can absolutely stay with us. Albus and James and Lily will be thrilled."

"I'll make sure they never suspect a thing," Ginny winked. "I got all the cunning wit and genius that skipped over my thick-headed brother."

Hermione laughed, a bit weakly, but it was a laugh nonetheless.

A tiny, tiny piece of her relaxed. Just knowing her children wouldn't find out about their family falling apart for a little while longer stilled the quiver in her gut. For a moment, anyway.

"We'll have to come up with some reason why they can't come home," Ginny mused to herself, "but that won't be a problem. Just let us know what you're going to do, okay? I want to be informed the second you need us."

Hermione smiled, reminded of the older Mrs. Weasley. Then the smile faded as she realized that they wouldn't be in-laws much longer.

"Hey; it'll be okay." Harry squeezed her once more before letting her go. "Trust me. Ron has a lot more to worry about." He glanced at his wife, who nodded, lips twitching.

"I think it's time I give the old bat bogey hex a few practice tries."

0.0.0

When the doors were locked and all but one light extinguished, Hermione crawled into bed.

She sipped on the large glass of wine that was by now a nightly ritual, and leaned back against her favorite fluffy pillow to peruse the jobs section of The Daily Prophet.

Many of the postings she'd seen before; she'd even been interviewed for some of them. She remembered with pursed lips how the owner of a quaint bookshop in Diagon Alley asked for her autograph before informing her he simply wouldn't hire her—the legislation she'd helped get passed that gave house elves more rights had cost him half his free workforce.

She had told Harry and Ginny it was because of the economy that she had yet to find gainful employment, but that was only half of it. She seemed to run into prejudice against her blood (which DID still exist, to her utter bemusement) or distaste for her current job at the Ministry, and thus she was, frankly, quite fucked.

She was just about to give it up for the night when she noticed a posting she hadn't seen previously. For a centuries-old, prestigious company that rarely hired outsiders. Her mouth went dry.

Suddenly, like the sun cresting the horizon, an idea bloomed in her mind. Her heart began to beat wildly—it was too far-fetched. Really. And she'd have to do several morally wrong, not to mention illegal things to accomplish it.

Glancing up, she took in the fact that there was now zero furniture in her bedroom. Her mattress sat directly on the floor, as she'd sold her beautiful four-post bed and matching trunk and dressing table.

Even the light she was using to read was conjured at the tip of her wand, because Ron had taken their bedside lamps, insisting he'd bought them and they were therefore his.

"But you don't even read in bed!" she'd screamed in a weak moment.

"Maybe there are other things I'd like to do in bed that I need the light for!" He had yelled back, ears immediately turning red. Then he'd absconded with the lamps.

Snapping back to the present, a great rage and humiliation covered Hermione like a scratchy blanket.

She bolted out of bed. The potion would need some time to brew.

0.0.0

It was a week later and Hermione was a frizzy ball of nerves. She had an interview in just a few minutes at the massively tall, intimidating building across the street. It stuck out like an ink blot on fresh parchment in the middle of muggle London, solid black and glittering with a thousand windows. The mirrored entrance gleamed in the sunlight, the polished black stone above boasting the name "Malfoy Law" in heavy white letters.

Of course, that was because she could see it. Most of the people walking past the broad, mirrored front entrance could not.

The Malfoys must have thought themselves very clever to erect such a structure in the center of a bunch of oblivious muggles.

She took a deep breath. Then another, and another. The barista at the muggle coffee shop eyed her with some concern. It was her fourth cup, which probably wasn't the best idea, but her nerves were shot anyway.

All she had to do was put the long, blond hair into the potion and take a sip and—and hopefully not make an absolute idiot of herself on this desperate mission.

Licking her lips, she stood and backed into the restroom, making sure no one was watching. She locked the door behind her, shutting her eyes tightly.

"Don't be so dramatic, Granger," she hissed to herself. "You've fought Death Eaters and won! You've destroyed Horcruxes! You're the entire reason Harry survived third year!"

She nodded to herself, then withdrew the hair from her robes. She felt like a sleazy sneak for stealing the hairbrush sticking out of a young woman's purse, but she needed to be sure she'd have enough hairs to keep this going for...as long as possible.

"Okay." She opened the cap on the little canister she'd brought and dropped the hair into murky liquid. It changed to green for a moment, then settled back to its normal putrid brown color.

She wrinkled her nose.

"Well, at least this can't get any worse."

She put the potion to her lips and choked it down.

0.0.0

"Can I help you?" drawled the toffee-skinned, exquisitely beautiful receptionist.

"Yes. I'm here for an interview? For the Junior Legal Counsel position."

"Name?"

"Amelia Wickham."

"Have you brought a detailed CV and references with you?"

"Yes..."

"Through that door there. Take the lift to floor ninety-seven. Turn left, last door on the right."

The receptionist swiveled her chair away from Hermione, disguised as 22-year-old Amelia. If she was going to live a double life, it might as well be a young, pretty one. And if she was being honest with herself, it would boost the likelihood of her getting the job.

"T-thank you," Hermione said, but the woman ignored her. She straightened her back and marched through the double doors and punched the call button on the nearest lift. There must have been twenty of them. People in luxurious clothes and robes she could never dream of affording were getting on and off the lifts. A few of them noticed her, and she blushed when she realized it wasn't because she was Hermione Granger. It was because her pretend body was quite attractive.

The doors to the lift opened and a man ten years younger than her was already there, leaning against the back wall of the lift with his hands in his trouser pockets. When he looked up at her, he quirked an eyebrow with obvious interest.

Trying to hide her discomfort, Hermione shuffled onto the lift and turned her back to the man, before pressing the button for the ninety-seventh floor. They were on the ground floor, clearly meant to be his exit, but the man made no move to leave.

Hermione cleared her throat.

"Getting off?" she ventured quietly.

The man chuckled, and a gross feeling settled in Hermione's gut.

"That depends." He said, using an obvious tone to accentuate the innuendo. "You must be here for an interview. I've not had the pleasure of meeting you before."

The doors closed and Hermione swallowed nervously. She had to handle herself the way a woman used to getting this sort of attention from men would do. However that was.

She ignored him. He came forward to stand beside her.

"Come on...what do you say I show you to the conference room, eh?"

"I know where to go, but thank you for the kind offer," she smiled, not letting it meet her eyes. She still didn't meet his gaze.

"I'll just show you a faster way."

"Faster than taking the lift?" Hermione asked, putting emphasis on the last word.

The man chuckled.

"We've gotten off on the wrong foot." He stuck out his hand. "I'm Thaddeus Wainwright. Delighted to meet you, Miss...?"

"Wickham." Hermione said, trying to sound confident that it was her actual name. "Amelia Wickham."

She didn't shake his hand.

The lift finally arrived at its destination and Hermione tried to exit with the grace and serenity of a serious businesswoman.

She tripped.

The bloody heel of her ghastly shoe snagged the carpet, sending her sprawling to the floor. Her purse opened, spilling out her wand, four books, tissues, some ridiculous thing called an eyebrow stamp Ginny had given her for her birthday the previous year and a photograph of her children.

She snatched the photograph first, knowing it was the most incriminating thing for anyone in the building to see her carrying in her purse. Her heart pounded furiously as she tried to sweep her belongings into the small purse, kicking herself for her stupidity and resolving to leave pictures at home in the future.

"Whoa!" Wainwright said, impressed. "That's one hell of an undetectable extension charm on that bag." He offered her one of the books she'd dropped and the folder that had been under her other arm that contained her CV and references.

"Thank you," she said, face flame-red. "I really need to get going for my appointment—"

"I'd be happy to escort you—"

The doors on the next lift opened, but it appeared empty. Hermione lowered her voice, realizing they were in the middle of a place she hoped would employ her in the future.

"I'm sure I can't be unfortunate enough to fall twice in the same hallway—"

"You'd be surprised at the unfortunate things that happen to women when they're alone," he said, certainly meaning to seem humorous, but there was darkness in his eyes.

Hermione straightened up and glared at him. Really, he had no idea who he was messing with. She'd have him hanging by his toes before he knew what had hit him.

"Excuse me, sir," she said sharply, "but I don't appreciate what you're insinuating. I wonder if the owner of this company knows he employs a walking sexual harassment suit." She took a step toward him; he seemed genuinely shocked at the change in her demeanor. Why, it was almost like she was someone else.

"Nobody's ever complained before," he said, trying to recover with a wolfish grin.

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"They were either drunk, unconscious or dead. Confessing to murder now, are you, Thaddeus?"

Wainwright scoffed, opening his mouth to retort, when a presence behind Hermione made his mouth snap shut.

"Everything alright here, Wainwright?" A cool voice said. It stood the tiny hairs on Hermione's neck on end.

Wainwright nodded curtly.

"Of course. I was just showing Miss Wickham to the conference room."

"No need. I'll be interviewing her myself." Hermione slowly turned to face the man she'd come to work for, but only expected to see rarely, if ever. She barely registered the sleazy man's words as she studied her old rival's face.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy. Brilliant idea." Wainwright said. "I'm off to lunch then."

He stepped back on to the lift, visibly relieved.

Silver eyes followed him closely.

"Oh, Wainwright...I'd like tea in my office in fifteen minutes. Your lunch can wait that long, don't you agree?"

The other man gave a weak smile, then dropped his gaze as the doors started to close.

"Of course, sir. Right away."

Draco Malfoy snorted. His hands were shoved deep in his gray trouser pockets. He still faced the lift, but his eyes drifted to her face. She felt her breath hitch. She knew he couldn't possibly know, but her mouth still ran dry.

"If you work here, you're going to be dealing with sods like him a lot. Think you're up to the task?"

Hermione bristled. Was she up to the task? She was Hermione Granger! She took tasks most would find horrendously challenging—and did them for amusement.

"Might I ask why you're so comfortable with the fact that so many less than honorable people work for you?"

Malfoy's lips twitched.

"We'll talk in my office," he said, and gestured down the hall.

"Your office isn't on the top floor?" Hermione asked, genuinely surprised. They began to walk down the hallway. He shrugged.

"I like being in the middle of the building. What if there's a fire?"

He said it with a straight face, looking ahead, and without even a hint of humor in his tone, but Hermione was willing to bet her last eight galleons that Draco Malfoy was joking with her.

So that was it, then. The disguise was working. He'd heard her voice now, and he still didn't know who she was. She realized she might actually pull the whole thing off.

A tiny tendril of hope she hadn't allowed herself to feel yet curled its way through her chest, cementing her resolve to continue on.

"Here we are."

Malfoy opened the door, then gestured for her to enter first. She cautiously did so, taking in the very minimalist decor. There was a tall leather office chair behind an enormous desk with stacks of parchment neatly organized, various expensive quills on their individual stands, framed awards and diplomas on the walls and nothing else.

Oh, but the view.

Floor to ceiling windows all around. Of course a 360 degree view of London would be impossible without magic in an office in the middle of a building, but she couldn't tell it apart from the real thing.

She heard Malfoy close the door.

"Well, have a seat, Miss...?"

"Amelia Wickham, sir," she said, trying to sound eager, like a young hopeful applicant would, but cringing internally at calling Malfoy "sir."

He shook her hand, then they both took their seats.

Then Hermione noticed a framed photograph on Malfoy's desk, but she didn't recognize the person in it.

"Ask Pansy to join us, would you?" He said to the woman in the picture. She nodded, then walked out of the frame.

"Ms. Parkinson is my Senior Legal Counsel. If I hire you, you'll be working directly under her. She's quite brilliant; you'll learn a lot from her."

"That's great." Hermione panicked. Pansy Parkinson? How did she not know she'd be working for Pansy Parkinson? She had assumed in all likelihood it would be someone she knew, considering there were only so many pure blood wizards available for Malfoy to hire. But Pansy?

Hermione stifled a groan.

Malfoy leaned back in his chair and rested the ankle of one leg on the knee of the other. He didn't smirk, or smile. He just watched her.

"So. Tell me why you want this job."

"Why I...why I want this job."

"Yes," He said slowly, as if she were mentally impaired.

"Well," she straightened, "I've always wanted to see the inside of this place. It looks so cool on the outside. Of course there are photographs and brochures but they don't do it justice. It's magnificent!" she breathed, hoping she had stroked his ego enough. Young, attractive, admiring. The three key assets to any woman who wanted to work at Malfoy Law.

But was it just her imagination, or did Malfoy seem...less interested?

"Fascinating." He deadpanned. Definitely less interested. "Those are your credentials?" He gestured to her folder.

"Yes, sir."

He sat there, still watching her, silent. After a moment of awkward realization, Hermione wordlessly handed him the folder. He immediately sat it on his desk without opening it.

He studied her for another long stretch. Hermione felt the fake smile slowly melt off her face.

"So, who are you?" He said abruptly, thumbing the folder and looking directly into her eyes. "I get the sense you're being dishonest."

Hermione's pulse thundered deafeningly in her ears, so suddenly she thought she might faint. Where was this coming from? What had given her away?

"I'm not sure I follow you," she said carefully. Her mind was tripping over itself, searching for a way out of this catastrophe.

Malfoy grinned, but it was small, and just as insincere as her own smile had been.

"The woman who just told me she wanted to work here because my building is shiny is not the same woman who just accused me in the hallway of turning a blind eye to the questionable behavior of my employees."

Hermione gulped. He noticed.

"Also, this folder feels like it weighs a kilogram. I'd guess twenty pages of your accomplishments. You're either an unbearable show-off or you're trying too hard to convince me how perfect you are. Who are you?" He asked simply, pushing the folder back toward her before leaning back in his chair. Bored.

So it wasn't "the" question. It was a test. One of those interview test questions. She'd nearly had a heart attack and had been about to give herself up because she wasn't prepared.

She mentally noted to learn to lie better.

"I'm Amelia Wickham, sir," she began, dropping the sexy simpleton act. "I have wanted to work here since I was seven years old. I've always wanted to work in this field, and there's no law office with a better reputation than Malfoy Law. It's the best of the best. And I have a lot to prove, sir," she threw on hastily, because it was true. Lies always seemed less like lies if they were rooted in some truth. She needed to prove, not just to Ron and their children, but to herself, that she was more than a has-been sidekick. "I'll work damned hard if you give me a chance. I'm not afraid to put in whatever time and effort the company needs. My career is my top priority in life." Another true statement.

Malfoy seemed satisfied with her answer and gave her a chaste smile.

"That's better. And just because I know you have a valid point and I always address valid points, I am aware of Thaddeus Wainwright's behavior and he will be reprimanded and sent to workplace sensitivity training. I can't fire him, since he's the son of one of my top lawyers, and I'd rather not see either of them go to a rival firm. It's the nature of the beast, I'm afraid, Miss Wickham." He stood and made his way around the desk to her, before leaning back against the front of the desk to look down at her. "Tell me something—do you enjoy 'Pride and Prejudice?'"

Hermione stammered. He stood at a professional distance, but they were still closer than they'd been since she'd punched him in third year.

And her false surname had seemed so perfect at the time. She'd named herself after the villain in her favorite Jane Austen novel. Because if she was being honest with herself, she did feel a bit villainous.

And Draco Malfoy had read a book she loved. One written by a muggle. How bizarre.

"Yes," she said adamantly. "All her books, actually." She flushed.

Malfoy quirked an eyebrow.

"Because they're love stories?"

"Because they feature strong female characters who were ahead of their time," she corrected.

"Ah." He rolled his eyes and snorted, unconvinced.

There was a loud knock at the door, and Hermione automatically turned to see who had entered. Malfoy merely turned back to his desk, bending over and snapping up a gleaming silver quill to write down a note.

Pansy Parkinson let herself in, and Hermione knew right away she was a force to be reckoned with.

"I'm here, Draco."

"I have eyes, Pansy," he said harshly, and Hermione heard the scratch of his quill against paper behind her.

"Is this the girl?" she asked, taking a step forward. Hermione noted her severe haircut, chin length and sharp beside her jaw, and her highly fashionable black, red and white pantsuit ensemble complete with dangerously slim red heels.

Hermione wouldn't be caught dead in any of it. But Amelia would be floored.

"Yes! Yes ma'am—my name is Amelia—"

"Don't call me 'ma'am' ever again. I'm not your mother," Pansy snapped. Then she pursed her lips. "The young ones annoy me, Draco."

"The young ones want it the most," Malfoy sighed, finally turning around holding a slip of parchment. "They'll go the furthest to succeed." He moved past Hermione and held the note out to Pansy, who cocked an eyebrow, but took it anyway.

"It's your call. I have other matters to attend to. You're welcome to my office."

Malfoy breezed out the door without looking back, calling an insincere "good luck" over his shoulder. Pansy sighed, then glanced down at the paper.

"Right," she said with an eye roll. She folded her arms across her chest and lightly shifted her weight to one hip. "So, I've got two minutes. What makes you special enough to work for me? I already know you're a pure blood, otherwise you wouldn't dare apply."

Hermione didn't blink. This woman would see right through any sucking up she tried to do.

"I need a job. I'm desperate for money. I have a...an embarrassing shopping addiction and if I don't find something soon...I'll have to..." she feigned horror, "borrow my friends' clothes."

Pansy's eyes widened, and for a moment Hermione saw a flash of sympathy and sisterhood in them.

Neither woman spoke for a moment as they simply regarded each other, judging and forming assumptions as women are wont to do.

Pansy's chest rose and fell with a deep breath as she seemed to come to a decision.

"Let's have a look at your CV then."

0.0.0

Hermione was exuberant.

After an hour discussing the job, the breathtaking salary, going on a tour of Malfoy Law and having a practice sit at the assistant's desk outside Pansy's office, Hermione walked out feeling almost as tall as the building she'd left.

It was a complete turnaround from where she'd been twenty-four hours previous. It was all she could do not to skip down the street toward her preselected apparition point.

But as she walked, each step she took seemed to sink a little deeper into the sidewalk. People passed her in both directions, some openly gawking, others too engrossed in their own lives to notice her face drastically change from buoyant to quite deflated.

It was more money. A lot more money. Enough for her to afford Rose's tuition and a modest flat in London.

But she'd have to leave her current job. One she loved, one that allowed her to pass legislation and effect changes she cared about. It wasn't the most financially rewarding, but she'd never been unfulfilled by it.

She was leaving all that to work for a man who bullied her in school. Who fought with Death Eaters in the Second Wizarding War. Perhaps he wasn't so bad now, or possibly he'd just gotten very good at hiding that he was.

Plus, instead of vindicating tortured house elves, she'd be spending endless hours trying to find loopholes in laws so Malfoy's company could continue making a million galleons a week. It was no secret the majority of the clients were guilty and proud of it.

From fighting for the innocent to protecting the guilty.

She had come to a complete stop in the street before it all sank in. A sharp tightening in her chest took her breath away.

This would be extremely dangerous, and she couldn't tell anyone about what she was doing. If she were ever to be found out, she'd be alone on that sinking ship. She wouldn't put anyone else at risk.

She'd never find a job again. She would be labeled as a liar, a criminal. The Daily Prophet would certainly drag her good name through the mud until it eventually tarnished Harry's and Ginny's. Her children would be ashamed. Ron would feel validated in cheating and leaving her.

There might even be serious legal consequences, considering the nature of her work.

Oh, this was such a bad idea.

Before she could stop herself, she tore across the street, barely dodging the taxis and swearing drivers. As soon as her feet were firmly on the sidewalk again, someone walking past clipped her shoulder. It caused her to stumble back, stepping down into the street again, directly in the path of a car screeching to try to stop in time—

A pair of strong, smooth hands snatched her back onto the street by her arms, still holding onto her until she caught her breath. For all that she'd nearly been run over, it barely registered. She could only think about what a massive mistake she'd made.

"Hey, you alright? It's a little early in the day to be throwing yourself into oncoming traffic. Give it 'til the bars close at least."

Hermione finally focused on the man with an American accent who'd wrenched her from certain death—or at least a serious maiming.

He was of average height, with dark brown hair that was shaved close to his head on one side and hung longer on the other. His slight facial hair was neatly groomed, and the visible skin of his muscular arms and hands was covered in magnificent tattoos. Dark brown eyes and just the very beginning of laugh lines, fitted shirt and jeans and a smile full of perfectly straight, white teeth, which she found immensely attractive.

Hermione's parents were dentists, so good teeth were kind of a dealbreaker.

"S-someone bumped me," she finally croaked. The younger man chuckled. "Thank you."

"Hey, don't thank me. Just uh—come have a drink? This is a great place." He stepped back, finally releasing Hermione's arm, and waved his hand at the bustling pub behind him. "Live band from Ireland tonight. Their manager bought everyone a round."

Hermione scrunched up her face to try to read the faded sign of the pub.

"'Jaded Ink?'"

"Er, no—that's a tattoo studio. Next door. The bar's called 'Poirot's' actually," he said, pointing to a different sign. "What do you say?"

"I don't know," Hermione shrugged, suddenly very shy. This total stranger was asking her to get a drink.

But she wasn't in her own body, so it wasn't as if she had any reason to feel shy.

"Ah, come on. Beautiful city, beautiful day—might as well waste it in a crowded bar with the guy who saved your life, right?" He laughed. So freely and openly, and it reminded her of a much younger, kinder Ronald.

But their laugh was where the similarities ended. Ron took seven years to get up the courage to ask her on a bloody date.

Hermione felt her lips give way to a tiny smile.

"I guess one drink would be fine. I've had a taxing day."

"Ooh, 'taxing.' Sounds extreme. I'm Sebastian Clearwater, by the way; your guide to this quaint establishment," he grinned, one hand splayed across his chest as he held out the other to take her hand and lead her toward the pub. "Friends just call me Seb."

"Clearwater?" Hermione said, pausing. The name jogged a distant memory. "Any relation to a Penelope? I went to school with—with someone who knew her," she finished quickly. Penelope would be much older than Amelia.

Sebastian's eyes danced with mirth.

"Oh yeah, Auntie Penny! Great gal. Were you uh—" he looked around to see who was listening, "—a student at Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes, actually," Hermione said with a smile. "Are you—"

"Just finished up at Ilvermorny four years ago. Wow-four years! I'm getting old. When did you graduate?"

They were inside the pub now, and Sebastian was talking quite loudly. Hermione had already answered this question for Pansy earlier, and had it ready.

"Two-thousand eighteen...so a little over five years ago." She tried not to blush at her lie.

Sebastian didn't notice.

"Ah, sweet! I appreciate older women," he joked.

They were deep into the throng now. A massive portion of the pub's occupants was crowded around the bar, screaming at a sports match on the telly. Sebastian held up a finger to her, still smiling, then dove in between two intimidating patrons to get their drinks.

Hermione sighed, feeling a crippling headache coming on. Her Polyjuice Potion must be near wearing off. She dipped into her purse and pulled out the small container to take a sip. No one would be any wiser in a muggle pub.

When Sebastian returned with their drinks, she put on her best grin and told herself she would have a little fun. She couldn't really wreck her life anymore, though technically she did have a new job to celebrate. It was an odd situation. She deserved a drink.

Not to mention it had been so long since a man had looked at her the way Sebastian was at that moment. She couldn't remember the last time she and Ron had slept in the same bed, much less been intimate.

Well, this was just one drink, and then home. She was a proper forty-four year old mother after all. Even if she only looked twenty-two.

0.0.0

This was a lonnnnng first chapter to start things off. Subsequent chapters will probably be a bit shorter so I can update more frequently.

Let me know if you liked it, and if I should keep going!

xo


	2. The Fifth in Six

**A/N** : Hey all! Prepare for a longgg author's note, sorry! So like I said before, the chapters will be shorter now. That's so I can update a little more frequently! Thank you so much to those who reviewed and followed and even invited me to really cool writing communities! I'll get back to you on that ;). I'm having such fun writing this (also, ffr, I don't own Harry Potter!)

I'd like to address the constructive criticism I received. One reviewer stated the story is a bit dialogue-heavy and it can be confusing at times. I will try to include more narrative to make it easier to follow :)

Also I received my first ever "flame!" So exciting. The eloquent comment left by a guest was simply: "total garbage, just another Ron bash."

In case anyone else feels this story is throwing Ron under the Knight Bus...yes, I guess it is a Ron bash. Though I'd like to point out Rowling herself has stated that Hermione and Ron likely would have had to see a marriage counselor. She's their creator and recognizes their personalities are so different, it would lead to intense friction, and not the good sort! I wanted this story to be as canon as possible, so it is post-epilogue: Ron and Hermione got married and had two kids. It's been thirty years since Hogwarts. In that time, most marriages see passion wane. Ron got fed up with Hermione's career taking precedence over him and as a jealous character, I do think he'd feel extremely mistreated (however wrong that is) and he'd leave—like he did in Deathly Hallows. That incident proved he's prone to rash decisions, and can sometimes do things to hurt someone on purpose if he perceives they hurt him first. Would "Book Ron" CHEAT on Hermione? I don't know. He holds a special place in my heart. But "Film Ron" totally would. At least, that's my opinion. I hope this explanation straightens out where I'm coming from, writing his behavior that way.

I welcome all constructive criticism and will do my best to address it. But if you're going to call it "garbage," maybe have actual reasons to back it up? Then we can have a civilized discussion. ;)

Anyway, onto the chapter... :D

2.

When she woke up the next morning, Hermione's face broke into a half-grin. It was nice, for a change. She stretched, remembering the somewhat-surprising intellectual conversation she had shared with a total stranger half her age. Ron was never much for listening to her go on and on about books and the rights of mistreated magical beings, so she had kindly unloaded all her personal and political opinions on Sebastian. She had then realized how boring she must have sounded and apologized, and he had laughed and told her there was no need—he was fascinated.

"But, if you still think you should make it up to me, how about we meet here Monday, six o'clock? I'm dying to know more about giants and their plight," he'd said, actually fidgeting with nerves.

He was totally serious, and Hermione had agreed. Lying about who she was had emboldened her; who was she kidding? Sebastian would never take such an interest if he knew who she really was, beyond asking for her autograph.

She was just a war relic with teenaged children she was purposely deceiving.

The thought made her sad, and her morning grin melted away. Ah, back to normal.

An hour later, she had showered, dressed in casual clothes and scooped her hair into a very full bun. Something caught her eye as she leaned toward the mirror and brushed her teeth.

"Oh God," she mumbled around her toothbrush. Clamping down on it with her teeth to hold it in place, she used her hands to separate the silver strand of hair out from the mahogany ones. Then she plucked it out.

Drawing back to examine it, a splotch of toothpaste dropped onto her clean t-shirt.

"Ughhhh." She held the hair up to the light. Definitely silver. Almost white. _Too many of these and I'll look like Malfoy,_ she thought. She tossed it in the bin and rinsed her mouth, then noticed her stained shirt.

That made her think.

Amelia would not wear the clothes Hermione wore. For starters, she was taller and thinner than Hermione, but also much more fashionable. If she was going to work for Malfoy Law, she'd have to dress the part. She'd had to wear her own clothing to the interview, but the tailoring spells she'd done on them couldn't magically make them into the kinds of things a 22-year-old would wear...because she didn't exactly know what that was. And she had absolutely no money to spend on a new wardrobe before she was set to start the job on Monday.

Cringing, Hermione picked up her phone from the bathroom counter, glad she'd convinced her friends to use them. She was going to need reinforcements.

0.0.0

By the time Hermione arrived at the Potters', she realized she was going to have to let Ginny in on her secret. Not because she wanted to; the less Ginny knew, the more deniability she could claim if Hermione was found out and arrested. But Ginny knew she and Hermione didn't share the same appreciation for clothes, and they were different sizes, anyway.

She would have to come up with something convoluted to explain why she needed to borrow from Ginny's closet, and she had too many lies to keep straight already.

The Floo spit her out in their fireplace, and Ginny appeared right away.

"Okay," she said, crossing her arms and tapping her foot almost comically. "Spill."

So, after forcing Ginny to swear on their friendship to keep the secret, Hermione told all.

Ginny blinked at her friend over the rim of her teacup. She pursed her lips. Hermione held her breath.

"Yeah," the redhead sighed, placing her cup back in its saucer, "I knew it. You've cracked."

"Ginny—"

"I won't tell Harry. He's such a worrier, you know, and a bit of a drama queen to be honest. If he knew you'd gone barmy, well—" Ginny held out her arm and pretended to fly it like a broom, then crashed it into the table. She added explosive noises for dramatic effect.

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"Are you finished?"

"I don't know, are you, Hermione? I mean, what a mess!" Ginny leaned back in her chair, shaking her head. "And you want me to keep this from Rose and Hugo, too? They'll be so hurt when they find out. They'll never trust you again. Eventually they'll find out about Ron; they'll need you. They'll need to feel like they can depend on at least one of their parents." Ginny was definitely Molly Weasley's child—she managed to sound infinitely wise while sending someone on a guilt trip.

"You're right, of course," Hermione said, head in her hands, her breath making ripples on the surface of her cold tea. "But it's all I could think to do. Did I mention the salary? To do an easier job, too!"

"Are you sure you can...stomach it?" Ginny asked, her face screwed up in distaste. "Morally, I mean. Malfoy Law just defends guilty pure bloods. And half-bloods, if they're ridiculously wealthy. If you're working for them, those bloody bastards are sure to get off!"

"It'll be difficult," Hermione said simply. "But I've pulled off difficult things before. At any rate, no one's values are being compromised besides my own. I'm not doing this for myself." She sighed, pushing the tea and biscuits away. Finally, she forced herself to make eye contact with her friend, who was just as uncomfortable. "I'm doing this for my children. They don't deserve to have their dreams dashed because their parents couldn't figure out how to be responsible adults."

Ginny's face hardened like stone. She leaned forward, her index finger drawing a line on the table.

"You are a responsible adult. Don't you dare blame yourself for what Ron has done. Even if he wasn't happy with how much you worked, he didn't have to go jump into some _trollop's_...arms," she finished, reigning herself in. The corners of her mouth turned down, and her eyes were filled with sympathy. "He should be the one risking everything to fix this, not you."

Hermione finally leaned back into her chair, sagging with emotional exhaustion. She gave Ginny a watery smile.

"But he isn't," she whispered, and she blinked to stop the stinging in her eyes.

And that was the last they spoke on the matter.

0.0.0

Monday morning came both slowly and far, far too quickly for Hermione's liking. The first day on a new job was nerve wracking for everyone, but it was a bit of a different thing when you were a witch impersonating a muggle woman impersonating someone who didn't actually exist.

"Think of your children," she said to her reflection. "Think. Of. Your. _Children_."

She tossed back the potion, then fixed herself with a brown brick-like stare. She stayed focused on her own eyes while the usual nausea and muscle spasms hit her full force. In the mirror, brown lightened to blue, and then she wasn't herself at all anymore.

Amelia smiled back at her, and Hermione wondered at the power attractive people held over the rest of the world. It was like its own magic, but one that she'd never mastered.

 _Actually_ , she thought as she shimmied into clothes borrowed from Ginny, _I'm getting quite handy with that eyebrow stamp._

0.0.0

"Are you normally this early, or is it just something fun you're doing to annoy me?" Pansy groused, breezing past Hermione's desk, smelling faintly of a potion used to treat hangovers. "No one likes an arse-kisser, Amelia," she called over her shoulder, disappearing into her office and slamming the door. She was fifteen minutes late.

Hermione took a deep breath. She was still on her new employee probationary period, so having Pansy like her was essential. She waited approximately 90 seconds, then went to knock on Pansy's door.

"I'm busy!"

"Er...yes ma—uh, yes Ms. Parkinson." Hermione said loudly, looking both ways down the hall to be sure no one was looking at her strangely. "I was just hoping to speak with you regarding my objectives for today?"

"Objectives?" Pansy called shrilly, and Hermione heard the noise of a drawer being shut roughly. "Your objective is to be seen and not heard. When I need you, I shall summon you. Do not disturb me unless the building is on fire!"

Hermione stepped back from the door. What was the preoccupation with the building being on fire? She made a mental note to get to the bottom of it on her lunch break.

She was just about to sit down at her desk and idly twiddle her thumbs when a frazzled witch suddenly popped into an empty frame she hadn't noticed on her desk during the tour.

"Hi!" Hermione said, smiling as the portrait gathered her bearings.

"Hello! Ms. Parkinson says that—"

"AMELIA!" Pansy shrieked from her office. "I need you. What is taking so bloody long?!"

Hermione gave the portrait an apologetic smile.

"Thank you," she said warmly, then turned to enter Pansy's office for the second time in two minutes.

The former Slytherin was leaning far back in her leather office chair, a bag of ice she must have conjured pressed over her eyes.

"Amelia, push my nine o'clock meeting to this afternoon. And bring me a coffee and a bottle of water. They must come from the cafe across the street. If you try any substitutions, I'll know," she warned, wincing as the ice moved.

"Oh—okay—what reason would you like me to give—"

"Just think of something," Pansy groaned, shooing Hermione away with a waving hand. "I want the coffee in five minutes. You're excused."

Hermione's eyes widened. Was this what she was reduced to? Fetching coffee for her lush of an enemy-turned-boss?

She'd stood there in existential crisis too long because Pansy raised her head and peeked out under the ice pack at her new employee.

" _Why_ are you still here?" she asked, irritated.

"I—I'm not! Be right back!" Hermione stammered. Feeling like a complete fool, she rushed to her desk to grab her purse. She tried to Apparate, then remembered the law office was warded against it. Thirty seconds later, she was urgently pressing the button to the lift when the doors finally opened at a snail's pace.

Draco Malfoy stood there.

He looked up from his copy of the Daily Prophet and rolled his eyes when he saw her, which confused her.

"Good morning, Mr. Malfoy."

He tucked the paper under his arm, shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against the back of the lift, signaling that he was not getting off to go to his office, but seemingly resigned to riding down with her. Hermione jumped in and pressed the button to take them down.

"Pansy's drunk again." He said as the doors closed.

Hermione visibly jumped.

"Why would you think—"

"You're the fifth person to take that job in six months. Pansy is a terrible drunk, but it's never stopped her from doing her job. Goes through assistants like chocolate frogs, though," he smirked. Finally, he turned his head to look at her.

Hermione took in a sharp breath. Now _this_ was the closest they'd ever been. The tiny space of the warm lift was filled with a pleasant earthy, masculine scent with the unmistakable undertones of...money.

Hermione couldn't bear his steely gaze any longer so she looked toward the doors.

"So...someone made it over a month." Hermione said, pursing her lips.

"What?"

"You said I was the fifth person in six months. So naturally someone must've been able to keep the job over a month. That's reassuring," she said, nodding to herself. She felt Malfoy continuing to stare at her.

"One of them jumped from Pansy's office window and it took two months before the investigation closed, so...no." He smirked, obviously drawing pleasure from raining on her parade.

"Are they sure it was...a suicide?" Hermione asked, swallowing hard. The lift dinged to announce their arrival on the ground floor, and Malfoy started forward as the doors opened.

He looked back at her, still smirking as she was rooted to the spot.

"It was inconclusive," he said, clicking his tongue. "You'd better hurry up with that coffee. I'm assuming Pansy's got a close eye on the time." He grinned for a fraction of a moment, and it was a joke and something sinister at the same time. His intention was to rattle her, and he'd succeeded.

Then he stepped off the lift and disappeared into the bustling lobby.

 _So that's how it's going to be. Very well,_ Hermione thought. _Malfoy-1. Amelia-0._

0.0.0

All constructive feedback is appreciated :)

(Also I'll take unabashed flattery)


	3. Happy Now?

A/N: Hey all! I uploaded this twice because the first time it had weird html code in it when I posted it. Hopefully it's fixed.

I wanted to give a bit more background on the story since some people asked. Basically this is based on a show in which a 40 year old woman lies about her age to get a job. She deals with ageism, sexism and the fact that technology and media kind of moved on while she was a stay at home mom, and she has to play catch up so she can keep her job and put her daughter through college. There are several key characters but they won't all be represented here because I want this to be more of a "Harry Potter" story than a "Younger" one. Sebastian's character is almost identical to a character from the show. Hermione's problems aren't ageism and sexism as much as discrimination because of her beliefs and her alliance with Harry. Because in reality even after a war, everyone isn't magically cured of bigotry and the thought of Harry, Ron and Hermione riding off into the sunset without any lingering issues from their childhood...seems strange. But anyway, this story will be centered around Hermione having to figure out who she is all over again, and yes, Draco is the main love interest. But Sebastian is fun. Wink. Nudge.

So, I'm soooo sorry to the "Younger" fans who asked, but I don't plan to have a version of Kelsey (or Lauren) in this. Their characters are huge but I couldn't fit them into an HP story. If you want, though, you can imagine Harry is Kelsey! Haha! Also Pansy is Diana, Ginny is Maggie, Rose is Caitlin, etc.

This chapter is long because...it all seemed to need to happen in one chapter. *shrugs*

THANK YOU TO THE PEOPLE WHO REVIEWED. You make writing this so much fun, it's nuts. LittlebigmouthOKC, I totally agree with you, especially about FilmRon. And GoddessofTricks, that's legit the highest compliment I could receive. Sending you magical showers of fabulousness.

3.

It was quarter to six when Hermione sealed and sent the last letter on Pansy's behalf. The majority of the employees on their floor had left promptly at five, and Hermione felt true nostalgia for her former post at the Ministry. It was a rare night that she'd left at the same time as all her coworkers, so she expected this.

What she did not expect was how much effort Pansy put into her job. The woman managed several high-profile clients, even a few business accounts which contributed sizable profits to Malfoy Law's bottom line. She rarely left her office except to use the loo, but once when she'd come back she left her door open and Hermione had heard her quiet voice dictating detailed notes to an enchanted quill. When she made an error in her dictation she would become quite frustrated with herself, much like Hermione would.

Pansy was also uncomfortable with owls, so Hermione's primary task was making copies of letters (because aside from the lift, the Malfoy Law building shunned technology) and coaxing the snippy birds to deliver them. They were all very suspicious of Hermione and she wondered if they could tell she was an imposter.

The endless coffee runs were the only break from the monotony, as they gave Hermione a chance to stretch her legs and get some fresh air. She supposed she should be grateful, though, that her job allowed her to make a nice salary while remaining under the radar doing menial tasks for...honestly, not such an awful witch. Although it was true that Pansy had no idea the woman working for her was a mudblood.

She knocked cautiously on the door, which was slightly ajar, and heard Pansy bark, "Come in!"

Pushing the door further open, Hermione found Pansy deep in thought, leaning back in her chair and drawing her fingers along the length of a beautiful emerald green quill.

"Ms. Parkinson, I just wanted to let you know I've sent your last correspondence and unless you need something else, I'm leaving for the night," Hermione said finally.

Pansy didn't look up.

"Very well, Miss Wickham. I appreciate your efficiency today. Usually my assistants can't keep up."

Hermione bit her lip and inclined her head slightly, accepting the compliment.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

Hermione backed out of Pansy's office and bent down to extinguish the light at her own desk. It was still light outside, but the darkly tinted windows of Malfoy Law barely allowed in any sunshine. Hermione straightened and was about to turn right to go to the lift when she noticed the only light aside from the one in Pansy's office was the soft glow emanating from the one at the end of the hall to Hermione's left.

Malfoy. Of course he would work late. It was his company, after all.

Her curiosity almost got the best of her, but she determined the less contact she had with Malfoy, the better. She couldn't risk him picking up on some mannerism she accidentally displayed as Amelia that would remind him of Hermione.

On the way down to the lobby, she contemplated the events of her first day. Her successes far outweighed her failures, but she could definitely improve. For one thing, she needed to stop being so precisely perfect. Stop picking at the skin around her nails when she was waiting for more instructions from Pansy and trying to keep the boredom at bay. Stop alphabetizing and lovingly touching the spines of the law books that Pansy insisted she begin studying immediately.

Any habits Hermione had, she needed to conquer for Amelia to work. Pansy was sharp, but Malfoy had the eyes of a hawk. Too many encounters with him and he was sure to catch on.

You're thinking like a Slytherin, she realized. And since Amelia was supposed to be one, she was already getting more into character.

With a satisfied smirk to herself, she exited the lift and charged through the doors of the building, more motivated than ever to see her con through.

And there was Sebastian, waiting for her just outside. His back was to her, hands deep in his pockets, arms decorated in a hundred beautiful patterns.

For a moment, Hermione felt a bit deflated that she'd have to continue being Amelia for a while longer that day. She was quite tired and ready to get home and relax. But then Sebastian turned around and saw her, and the way his face lit up made her feel...special. Interesting.

She surreptitiously patted her purse to make sure she had brought a spare vial of polyjuice with her, then stepped closer to him. He surprised her by giving her a friendly half-hug.

"There she is!" He put his hand on the small of her back and began to lead her down the street. "I hope it's not weird I'm here waiting for you. I know we were supposed to meet at the bar, just thought it would be more polite if I walked you across the street." As they came to the crosswalk, Hermione sighed.

"It's not weird. To be honest, I'd totally forgotten about it, since today was my first day. It was a little," she paused, searching for the right word, "uncomfortable."

"Oh? Not what you were expecting?" He asked as the sign changed to 'walk' and they started across.

"Well, I expected to feel a bit awkward. But...I won't bore you. Suffice it to say I have a lot to learn."

They reached the sidewalk and were only steps from the bar when Sebastian laughed.

"You don't strike me as the type to have much trouble learning new things," he said, eyes full of mirth. He leaned close to Hermione and she actually felt a flutter in her chest. "You'll be totally fine." He shrugged like it was a done deal.

Hermione grinned. His confident smiles were contagious.

A man came stumbling out of the bar behind Sebastian and clamped down on his arm, causing him to turn abruptly toward the stranger. He was roughly the same age as Sebastian, but unkempt and glassy-eyed.

"Seb! Where have you been!" The man pulled Sebastian into his chest for a hug, and he seemed happy to return it. "It's time for another go in your chair! I've got an empty space dying for some ink!"

Sebastian laughed, stepping back toward Hermione and smiling at his acquaintance.

"Sounds great! I'm a little busy right now, but the shop'll be open around eleven if you're still into it. Oh, Mike—I love you, man, but you know my policy," Sebastian said, leaning in to say the last part more quietly.

Mike nodded, completely sloshed. He didn't bother lowering his voice.

"Right! No tattoos until I'm sober. Gotcha!" He clapped Sebastian on the back again, then strode back into the bar, clearly planning to drink until he was completely incapacitated.

Sebastian turned to Hermione and shrugged, a smile on his face.

"Guess the cat's out of the bag."

Hermione smiled warmly.

"So, you're a tattoo artist? That's really nice!" she said awkwardly. She did find it quite interesting, but she'd be lying if she said she'd ever considered getting one herself. "You must be so talented!"

Her companion dragged his hand across the back of his neck, shuffling his feet.

"I do alright. About half my clients are muggles and they're always fascinated at the quality—a little magic goes a long way. That's uh—" he pointed to the tattoo studio behind him, beside the bar, "that's my studio there. Do you, uh...want me to show you around?"

Always excited to learn new things, Hermione quickly agreed. Sebastian was floored—he explained he hadn't divulged what he did for his day job because he thought it would be a red flag. Jaded Ink, his studio, was a wondrous new sight for her to behold.

"You own all this?" She said in awe, finally noticing a board on the wall behind the counter with photographs of satisfied customers and their new artwork. Upon further inspection, she realized that they were more than just good. Sebastian was gifted.

"I do." He lovingly swept his hand across the counter, gazing around the studio. "I came to London with just my materials, drummed up business hanging out at the bar next door...relied on word of mouth to get things going and, uh—" he winked at her. "Might have used a bit of magic. But here we are. I've got everything invested in this place."

The way he spoke, with total adoration and bewilderment that it was really all his, made Hermione happy for him...but wistful for herself. She didn't have much to call her own anymore. And if she was being honest, the legislation and laws she'd helped get passed might have made her sleep better at night, but the animosity she faced from the general public for freeing their servants and changing the status quo after centuries...it bothered her more than she'd thought it would.

Would she change anything? No. But that didn't mean she had to like the way people sneered and derided her. Being a mudblood was one thing—she couldn't control that. Her career was a choice, and she'd chosen it time and time again over her family. And now that was falling apart, too.

"You ok?" Sebastian asked, and Hermione started.

"Oh, yes," she blinked rapidly. "I'm sorry. I'm just really tired. Long first day!" She laughed to try to shake the melancholy. Sebastian smiled crookedly at her.

"You're good. Want to get that drink now?"

Hermione nodded, grateful he didn't press her. He locked up his shop and they walked the few feet to the bar entrance.

"So, what you were telling that man—Mike. About how you don't do tattoos on anyone who is drunk?"

"Yeah? Standard in the industry. Any self-respecting tattoo artist knows you should make sure your client is giving informed consent on permanent body art." He held the door open for her to enter.

"That's noble, considering you must get a ton of clients coming over straight from this bar."

Sebastian smiled and followed Hermione inside.

"I'd like to think it's noble...but it's also pretty illegal," he winked. "And I've got a lot to lose. Why take the risk?"

Why, indeed, Hermione thought.

0.0.0

The rest of the week passed in similar fashion.

Hermione would arrive fifteen minutes ahead of Pansy, who was usually hungover. Malfoy would already be in his office, so she didn't run into him on the lift again. Hermione had already learned by the second day to have Pansy's coffee and water waiting, along with a headache draught. Pansy seemed surprised and never thanked her, but Hermione could tell the gesture was appreciated.

Hermione spent most of her time writing, proofreading and sending Pansy's correspondence, but by Thursday her new boss began to trust her with filing and cataloguing case notes. She asked every day how far Hermione had gotten with the law books, and Hermione had to lie and say she was making slow progress. In truth, she sneaked at least one book home each evening and devoured the information quickly.

Trying to appear intelligent but not too intelligent was exhausting.

She only saw Malfoy once, when he stopped by Pansy's office to drop off a heavy, dusty volume on magical tax law. He hadn't spoken to Hermione, only briefly dipped his head to acknowledge she was alive. And that suited her, really.

After Malfoy had left, Pansy had promptly deposited the book on Hermione's desk with instructions to read it and make detailed notes on the laws regarding fair taxation of a married couple consisting of a witch or wizard and a squib.

Hermione had her task completed within the hour, but waited another forty-five minutes before turning it in to her boss.

She really couldn't figure Pansy out. On the one hand, she still seemed to harbor deep resentment, if not hatred, for mudbloods and muggles. But then Hermione realized Pansy generally handled sensitive cases, some of which involved the abused children of purebloods, and she could've sworn she'd caught the former Slytherin wiping her eyes while dictating notes. Surely a person who could feel that much empathy couldn't be all bad?

But then Pansy had caught her watching and hurled a hex at her to get her out of the office, and Hermione determined Pansy didn't want to be figured out.

It was just as well. She wasn't there to make friends out of old rivals and learn what made them tick. She was there to earn a paycheck.

And if things continued in that way for years, until Rose and Hugo were out of university and completely self-reliant, Hermione would be satisfied. She could deal with the monotony and drastic departure from her previous line of work. She could live with working in close proximity to her childhood tormentors. Cringing, she realized she would have to come to stomach being involved in the defense of guilty purebloods...but she could do it. For her children, she could do anything.

But things would not continue in that way. Not by a long shot.

0.0.0

The first difference was that Pansy was not hungover.

"Amelia, Draco's office in one minute." She didn't look at Hermione, simply strode past into her office and left the door open wide. "Bring the coffee and that book."

Hermione sprang into action, collecting the coffee she'd charmed to stay hot and the water she'd charmed to stay cold. She stuffed the headache draught into her desk drawer. She also grabbed a quill, parchment and the heavy volume Malfoy had dropped off at Pansy's office days before.

Her arms quite full, Hermione turned to start down the hall toward Malfoy's office just in time to see Pansy come out of her own, nearly running into her. Pansy held a stack of parchment and her emerald quill.

"Oh, thank fucking Merlin," she groaned, grabbing the coffee from where it was tucked between Hermione's arm and her chest. She downed a large gulp as they walked briskly towards the end of the hall. "I can't stand these Friday meetings. Waste of damn time."

Hermione bit her lip. Friday meetings? As in, every Friday she'd be trapped with Pansy and Malfoy in an office? Oh, no.

Pansy reached the door before she did, and didn't bother knocking. She threw the door open and marched inside, still sipping her drink.

Hermione crossed over the threshold to see Malfoy at his desk, head bent over some documents. He hadn't bothered to look up at their unceremonious entrance.

"Happy Friday, Pansy," he said distastefully. Then he looked up. "And to you, Number 5."

"What?" Pansy asked as she took a seat across from Malfoy. She didn't sound particularly interested.

Malfoy's eyes bore into Hermione's. He was testing her. Again.

"Oh, nothing...just a little joke," Hermione said weakly as she settled into the other chair.

"Don't be stupid. Draco doesn't do jokes." Pansy rolled her eyes. "Actually, I don't care. Can we move this along? Even with a somewhat competent assistant, I'm drowning in work." She tossed her stack of parchment on Malfoy's desk then leaned back into her chair.

Hermione began to quietly unload her arms onto Malfoy's desk, placing the water and book in front of Pansy and resting her blank parchment and quill in her lap.

Was it her imagination, or was Malfoy actually staring at her? She couldn't be sure without looking directly at him, which she was dreading. Every time they made eye contact, she felt like he was reading every thought in her mind—but that was impossible, since she would've been able to feel him using Legilimency on her.

She looked up. And met his eyes.

Pansy was staring at her too, and Hermione blushed as she realized her shuffling and arranging of the things she'd carried with her was making an awkward racket.

"Sorry," she muttered.

They ignored her. After a beat, Malfoy kicked off the meeting.

"So, where are we with the Eden Roth-Walters case?"

Twenty minutes later, her hand cramped after taking so many notes, something that actually concerned her came up.

"...and that brings us to our last item. Genevieve Crittendon and the squib." His lip curled on the last word, and he looked the same as when he'd called Hermione a mudblood in school. She was temporarily transported back to Hogwarts, and a dozen memories of Malfoy being casually cruel flooded her brain. The old barbs didn't sting anymore. It saddened her a bit to realize he hadn't changed, hadn't learned anything after so many years. It was...disheartening. Here was an obviously brilliant, hardworking and talented wizard, running a successful company, in a position to bring about positive social change...and he was still wasting his time on petty blood status. Disappointing.

"Amelia!" Pansy barked, shattering her thoughts. "Care to join us?"

"Oh! Sorry! Again." She shook her head and cleared her throat. "I read and took notes on the stance magical laws take regarding the effect Mr. and Mrs. Crittendon's marriage has on their tax liability and—"

"So you wrote it all down? Everything you're about to say?" Malfoy interrupted smoothly.

"Er—yes, sir." She tucked a lock of smooth blond hair behind her ear.

"Then just give me the notes. I'm not illiterate." He held out his hand, and Hermione felt her face go up in flames.

"I—um—well, I gave the only copy to Ms. Parkinson—"

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Pansy threw up her hands, slammed her empty coffee cup down on Malfoy's desk and stomped out of the room, presumably to retrieve the notes from her office.

"I had them memorized," Hermione mumbled.

"What was that, Five?"

"Nothing, sir."

Malfoy smirked. He knew he'd embarrassed her and pissed her off.

"No one likes a show-off. Your job is to support Pansy and the company. There is no employee of the month," he remarked snidely. "Do you have a problem with that, Five?"

The testy way he said it and the challenging look in his eyes was just too much. Hermione simply could not back down from it. She knew she would regret what she was about to say, but her pride couldn't take another hit this week.

"No, sir. But I do have a question." She fought to keep her face free of the anger she felt.

Malfoy's only reaction was to quirk an eyebrow. Which meant he was bowled over with surprise at her response.

"Ask it." Another challenge, with warning in his tone. This emboldened Hermione. She leaned forward so she was sitting on the edge of her seat. She vaguely heard Pansy return behind her.

"As the owner of this company, why exactly is it you're choosing to represent a lowly squib and his wife, when you clearly loathe anyone who isn't a pure blood?"

Malfoy's lip twitched. Pansy was in the middle of placing the notes on his desk when her arm froze, then slowly lowered the parchment down. Malfoy ignored her.

"We are representing his wife. She is, in fact, a pureblood. Clearly she's deranged, but a pureblood nonetheless. Actually, Pansy—" Malfoy said, lightening his tone, "we could use that. Some sort of insanity plea—"

"She's not on trial for murder. She wants to pay less taxes." Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Malfoy narrowed his at her interruption.

He leaned slightly forward with an intimidating scowl.

"All purebloods are on trial now, Miss Wickham. Ever since the Second Wizarding War, the Ministry has been tirelessly attempting to persecute purebloods for their role in aiding Voldemort, regardless of if their guilt can be proven. The only way they've found to punish the lot without formerly calling it punishment is to impose a blood tax." He sneered at her, daring her to disagree. Pansy seemed to finally register the seriousness of the turn the conversation had taken and sat up straight in her seat. She didn't speak, but Hermione could tell she was preparing for a verbal massacre.

"The blood tax is a myth," Hermione said delicately, trying to reign in her anger. "There have been numerous investigations into those allegations—"

"Led by Ministry officials." He scoffed. "Tell me, Amelia," he said mockingly, "if you were investigating your own people, would you be thorough, or perhaps let crucial evidence slip through your fingers?"

Hermione seethed. Malfoy was totally delusional. A blood tax on purebloods! It was laughable. The very same blood prejudice that had gotten them into two wars already, just spun the other way. Why, her own husband was a pureblood, and he paid the same taxes as anyone. She should know, as she filled out all the sodding paperwork for him! She almost spat that fact at Malfoy before she remembered who she was supposed to be.

Instead, she cleared her throat and dug her nails into the stack of parchment in her lap.

"Whether or not a blood tax exists," she said dismissively, "that is not the issue. Mrs. Crittendon married a squib, and according to the most recent legislation, which was passed in the fourteenth century, the law says she and her husband are required to pay a monthly penalty tax due to the nature of his birth. I don't think it's fair, but I suppose this case could bring attention to the need to update the law to accommodate modern marriages—"

She didn't see Pansy shaking her head, looking surreptitiously at her sideways, eyes practically screaming at her to stop.

"No," Malfoy said firmly, and he glared at Hermione as though he wanted to squash her like a bug. "We will not be taking this case." He closed the file in front of him and set it aside. "Are there any further items we need to discuss this morning?"

"What?" Hermione asked disbelievingly. "Why—"

"Because I have decided against representing the Crittendons. I do not have to explain my reasons to a glorified secretary." He smirked, knowing that would sting an ambitious young witch. But Hermione was unfazed.

"You don't want the law updated," she said, a tiny bit horrified. "You're going to refuse this case because then people would notice this stupid forgotten law that needs to be changed! So, what, a tax on purebloods is wrong, but a tax on non-purebloods is perfectly moral?! How can you—" She stopped herself, swallowing all the fire down. She was going to get herself thrown out on her arse. Despite every bone in her body shrieking at the pettiness of Malfoy and the unjust circumstances of an ancient law he'd prefer to keep in place, she simply could not afford to lose her job. If she hadn't already.

No one spoke a moment, but Pansy looked a bit worried. If Hermione had to assume, it was because she didn't want to lose a decent assistant. But whatever fondness she had for Hermione was days old; her loyalty to Malfoy spanned years.

Malfoy seemed to suddenly relax, and interlaced his fingers, pressing the pads of his thumbs together.

"Pansy, prepare a letter to Genevieve Crittendon and inform her we are unfortunately not taking her case. You are dismissed." He leaned back in his chair, one hand resting against his jaw and chin. Pansy and Hermione stiffly rose from their seats. "Not you." Malfoy spat, and Hermione froze.

She found Pansy's eyes. The other woman looked disappointed for a moment, expecting the worst, but then she simply shrugged and left the office. Hermione remained standing as she watched her leave.

The door clicked shut behind her, and then the silence was deafening.

She steeled her resolve and faced Malfoy, who looked hungry for blood.

He only watched her, eyes glittering like a snake ready to strike. And she couldn't move a muscle, because if he did choose to get revenge for her outburst, she would most certainly be rooming with Harry and Ginny for the foreseeable future.

He clicked his tongue. Then he pushed away from his desk and stood, shoving his hands in his tailored trouser pockets.

"You know," he began, and Hermione knew this would be painful. "This company has been in my family for nearly a millennium." He walked to the window, looking out over a sparkling, bustling London. "I was destined to take over before I was born. It's just what Malfoys do." He shrugged. "It never bothered me, to be quite frank. I get to tell everyone what to do. I make more money than anyone else in the building. And I don't have to worry about being progressive or revolutionary, because Malfoy Law has never changed its business model and it still manages to outshine and out-earn every other law office in the Wizarding world." He paused, drawing one hand out of his pocket and gesturing to the people milling about like ants below. He looked over his shoulder at Hermione. "You see these muggles? Not a one of them knows we are here. They can't see us," he chuckled. "None of them have ever seen us. If they did, they'd tear the building down, tear my company down, out of fear of something greater and better than they could ever hope to be. That is why Malfoy Law does not cater to muggles, or squibs, or muggleborns or literally anything other than purebloods, because the further away you get from a pureblood, the closer you get to a muggle."

He walked forward, and gripped the back of his tall black chair with both hands. Hermione swallowed, wondering when he'd end his manifesto and get to sacking her.

"We aren't here to lift up the underprivileged, Amelia. We're here to keep our own heads above the water. I have to keep my company relevant or else—there won't be a company. Hundreds of your coworkers will be without jobs. You will be without a job. Do you understand what I'm saying?" He said slowly, condescending to her. Hermione felt all the blood drain from her face.

"Well?" He began to walk toward her, his tall, lean figure blocking the morning sun behind him from reaching Hermione. She felt cold.

Hermione nodded immediately.

"Don't try to change the status quo." She hung her head. It went against every instinct she had.

Malfoy stopped just in front of her, sneering.

"Very good. I won't have this conversation with you again," he murmured dangerously. "I'll have you escorted from the building and blacklisted from ever working in this field again."

Hermione bit her lip. She wanted so badly to defend herself, or just retort, or do anything but stand there like a whimpering simpleton. He stood frighteningly close, his face just inches above hers. She focused her gaze on one of the quills on his desk, refusing to look at him lest she break character and hex him.

Something very, very odd happened then, and Malfoy appeared to take a deep, audible breath. If Hermione didn't know any better, she'd think he was breathing her in.

Then the moment passed and he walked away. She heard his door open, and slowly turned to see him standing aside, signaling it was time for her to leave.

She didn't speak, just shuffled past him and out into the hallway. The door closed so quickly behind her she felt a breeze.

A moment later, she was at her desk, numbly sitting down, when Pansy appeared, surprised.

"He didn't sack you?" She asked in a shrill voice. But with relief.

"No, he didn't," Hermione answered stiffly. "Although he certainly seemed keen on the idea."

Now that her competent employee was sticking around, Pansy relaxed and even laughed. Hermione looked at her curiously, still shaken from her encounter.

"What's funny?"

Pansy rolled her eyes.

"Lighten the fuck up, Amelia. So Malfoy humiliated you—you'll not find anyone in this office who hasn't had the same from him. But he's not as bad as you think," she said softly. Her fingers found the pendant at her neck, and she fidgeted with it thoughtfully—something she did quite often. "This place brings out the worst in him—but he's a good man."

She sounded convinced, but Hermione wasn't so sure.

"Anyway," Pansy said, turning to head back into her office, her snappy tone returning. "Get started on the letter to the Crittendons. I want it delivered with the afternoon post."

Then she was gone, and Hermione was left with a task that left a bitter taste in her mouth and a splitting headache.

0.0.0

"I still can't believe we'll never come here for Christmas again," Ginny said quietly, helping Hermione pack the last box of her things in the house she and Ron had shared. Then she turned white. "I mean, obviously it's harder for you...I'm sorry."

Hermione sighed, folding the box closed and grabbing the tape.

"I'm honestly just ready to be out of here. It's been mostly empty for months anyway. It hasn't felt like a home in forever." She glanced up the stairs, where the bedrooms were. Where her children's' rooms were. Then her eyes settled on the bare kitchen and where the breakfast table used to be. "It feels like...the home I raised my family in...was knocked down. And this one just looks a lot like it."

Neither of them said anything for a while. They did a final walkthrough, making sure nothing was left behind. They added the box they'd just packed to the small pile at the door, and Ginny suddenly fiercely hugged her friend.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay with me tonight?"

"No thanks, Gin," Hermione murmured into her shoulder. "My landlord is expecting me at my new flat tomorrow. I'll get the rest of this loaded in the morning—" she released her friend and took a step back, smiling softly, "and meet you for breakfast."

Ginny was very unhappy with this, but honored her friend's wishes.

"Okay. Let me know if you need any help tomorrow. Hermione..." she trailed off, biting her lip. "You'd tell me if you felt...I don't know...strange, right? Like you might..." She winced apologetically.

Hermione sighed.

"I'm not suicidal, Gin. Just tired. And yes, I'm hurt, but...I've had worse," she finished in a strong voice.

"Yeah. Okay. Goodnight, Hermione," Ginny said, hugging her friend once more.

Hermione crawled onto her bare mattress and covered herself with the thin fleece blanket her mother had given her one birthday. She'd successfully donated or sold all the items Ron had ever bought her that were worth anything. She had very few material possessions, and that suited her just fine. It was all just stuff. Stuff could be replaced.

Still, out of habit, she subconsciously stretched her arm out to the side of the bed Ron used to sleep on, dimly expecting to connect with his arm or chest, but she felt nothing.

She slowly drew her arm back to her side of the bed. She felt nothing.

0.0.0

The next morning, Hermione had shrunk the last box, the mattress and her sofa and was stacking it all neatly in her bottomless purse when she heard a familiar scratching at her kitchen window.

Opening it, a friendly owl who'd delivered her morning post every day for the past eight years flew in hooting and settled on the counter. Hermione adoringly stroked its feathers, accepting the rolled up Daily Prophet as she did.

"Oh, I'll miss you!" She patted the bird gently. "I do hope you'll still be able to visit at my new address." The owl hooted cheerfully, playfully pecked at her fingers, and took off. It disappeared out the window, and for the first time, Hermione felt a pang in her chest upon realizing she would never come back here.

Her grip tightened around the newspaper as tears burned in her eyes.

One of them fell and splashed against the outside page, and Hermione absentmindedly rubbed her thumb across it, smearing the ink.

Then a section of a peculiar headline caught her eye, and she unrolled the paper to get a better look:

ANCIENT LAW SUPPORTS TAX ON UNCONVENTIONAL LOVE

Her attention thusly secured, Hermione scanned the article first, then went back and read it again slower, taking it all in.

The Crittendons had been advised by an anonymous source to petition the Ministry to update its tax laws for married couples of mixed magical ancestry; they'd also been advised to contact the Prophet with their story to gather public support. The same anonymous source had put them in touch with and footed the bill for several well-known lawyers...all of them Malfoy Law's competition.

There was a direct quote from Mrs. Crittendon:

"We thought this was simply a nuisance we'd have to live with, when the first office we contacted for help dismissed us."

Wonder who that was, Hermione thought bitterly.

"But then we received an unsigned letter insisting we take a stand—it's not just about taxes, it's the prejudice behind the law we're fighting. Their words, not mine. But they showed my husband and I that this law affects so much more than just the two of us. We're hoping that by bringing attention to this archaic law, it can be changed, and no one else will be forced to pay a premium because of who they love."

It was a passionate speech, and the article was a bit over-the-top, but it got the message across.

She unfolded the paper to see if there was any more, when a simple white card fell out and fluttered to the floor.

Hermione tucked the Prophet under her arm and knelt down to retrieve it. Turning it over in her hand, she saw elegant script written there in emerald green ink.

"Happy now? -P"

And beneath it:

"P.S.

It wasn't me."

Then Malfoy's speech from the day before suddenly rang in her ears, and she recalled that when he'd been mid-rant decrying non-purebloods, he'd had the opportunity to call them "mudbloods" and had not. Instead, he'd said "muggleborns." She wondered how she could've missed it before.

Hermione swallowed the razor-edged lump in her throat. Pansy's note left little that needed to be riddled out. While Malfoy Law had a reputation to preserve and couldn't take the Crittendons' case themselves, it didn't mean someone else couldn't.

For all his hateful words and seething glares, Malfoy had anonymously steered his former clients in the right direction, and from the look of things, those with less-than-pure blood were about to experience a victory. A small one, for sure, but like most small victories, it would open the door for bigger ones.

Hermione carefully placed the card in her purse, and folded the paper neatly. She didn't realize she was smiling.

0.0.0


End file.
